Chapter 2 Run

Ryan listened to make sure the cop had given up the chase. There were no snapping twigs, no footsteps. Just silence among the trees.

He wondered if the cop got a good look at his face. Was it enough to identify him? A shiver ran down his back.

If the cop saw me, it’s back to juvie for breaking curfew, Ryan thought. With my luck, I’ll probably get extra time for a B and E I didn’t commit.

He was sure no one would believe him. No one ever did.

“What the hell do I do now?” he mumbled. “Wait it out and see what happens? Or get as far away as possible?”

He needed to think. It was time to head home. His dad might have passed out on the couch by now. Better still: the old man might stay out all night. Ryan started walking.

A half hour later, Ryan eased open the door to his dad’s apartment. He listened for the sound of snoring, but the place was as quiet as a graveyard. Flicking on the lights, he walked to his bedroom closet and stuffed his clothes into a duffel bag. A framed picture of his sister was nailed to the inside of the closet door. Ryan carefully removed it and flipped it over. He opened the back of the frame and grabbed the money he’d hidden inside. It was his earnings from fighting fires while on a forestry course in juvie. He stuffed the money into his worn wallet, fixed the frame, and put the picture carefully in the duffel’s side pocket. Ryan took off the jacket and gloves he was wearing and packed them into the bag.

He dropped the duffel next to the ragged couch. Then he noticed the used toothpicks scattered on the living room floor. Ryan hated the old man’s habit of picking his teeth. He picked at his teeth like he picked at everything and everyone.

Ryan glanced at his cheap watch. It was one in the morning. If the old man hadn’t come home by now, he wouldn’t be back until daylight. Ryan looked at the couch. He was exhausted. A few winks of sleep wouldn’t hurt. Besides, where would he go if he left at this hour? He flopped on the couch. His eyes closed. In an instant, he was asleep, dreaming the same old dreams.

He was thirteen again. His first time in juvie — sweating scared. Doors clanged, and then he was in the gym, being pushed and punched by other teens. An alarm blared. Now he was spread-eagled against a wall, being searched.

A door banged. Ryan’s eyes shot open. He was in his dad’s apartment. He squinted at the sunlight streaming through the window.

His dad staggered into the living room, his shirt half out of his grimy pants. He glared at Ryan. “You no good, lazy piece of shit,” he yelled. “You’re like a leech sucking me dry. I’ve got no job, no wife, nothing. You’re the cause of every rotten thing that’s happened to me. Your mother left me ’cause you’re such a lousy kid.”

“No way,” Ryan yelled back. “She left because of you.”

“Get the hell out my life!” his dad bellowed. “You’ll land back in juvie for sure. And when you’re eighteen in January, it will be adult prison for you, mister. The cops will get you.”

“Maybe they’ll come and take you away instead,” Ryan shouted.

“Don’t you talk to me that way. Get the hell out. I’ve a good mind to beat the tar out of you.” He staggered toward Ryan.

Ryan grabbed the duffel bag, dodged his dad’s fists, and ran out the open door.

“Go, you piece of crap,” his old man called after him. “I wish I’d never seen your face.”

The old man continued to yell as Ryan ran down the stairs and out of the building. He burst onto a street lit by the early morning sun.

After a block of running, Ryan slowed down. He caught his breath and scanned the street. His old man wasn’t following him. Ryan looked back at the three-storey building with the peeling paint and rusty air conditioners sticking out of the windows. He’d never go back.

As he walked along, Ryan shuddered at the memory of the cop’s flashlight playing across his body. No way was he going back to juvie to be thrown into a pod with the likes of Dan. Running was the only option, the farther away the better. The cops would expect him to head south. Instead, he’d take the Yellowhead Highway, going east toward Alberta.

Ryan made his way across town and stuck out his thumb. He hitched a ride with a mill worker driving to Prince George. Sometime later, the guy dropped him off outside of the city at the Yellowhead Bridge.

Ryan walked onto the bridge, which spanned the Fraser River. He watched the water swirl in eddies as it gouged into the riverbanks, pushing gravel and muck around. It’s like my life, all gravel and muck going nowhere, he thought. He turned and looked down the road. This time things would be different. With determined steps, he walked up the steep slope of the highway.